


Snapping Point

by PhoenixTiger



Category: Tangled: The Series (Cartoon)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Character Study, During Canon, Gen, Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 14:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17868599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixTiger/pseuds/PhoenixTiger
Summary: He had planned for everything–yet he had still failed. Takes place during Secret of the Sun Drop.





	Snapping Point

**Author's Note:**

> A look at Varian’s thought processes during the climax of The Secret of the Sundrop. Will naturally contain spoilers for that episode.

No, no, no, no, no... 

Why wasn’t it working? _Why_? It—it should’ve worked—had he made a mistake somewhere? His logic was flawless—his reagent had diluted the makeup of the rock, and a pure sample of its diametric opposite _should have broken it_. But no, but no, the amber gleamed as _flawless_ as ever, no scratch, no crack, nothing! 

The queen had gotten free. He didn’t care. The events around him were just background noise. He was _still_ where he was a _month_ ago, his dad so close but impossibly far, and despite his promise he had gotten _nowhere_. He could imagine his dad’s voice, feel his disappointment shining down from the immobile figure: _You were wrong. You have failed._

“I wasn’t wrong!” he cried, not caring that his dad couldn’t hear him. He had to explain. “It’s not my fault! None of it is!” 

Because it _wasn’t_. It _couldn’t_ be his fault if he never intended for any of this to happen! It _couldn’t_ be his fault when he had tried _so hard_ to fix the problems everyone else was ignoring! 

It couldn’t be his fault because if it was, it would be admitting that he killed his father. He didn’t. He _didn’t_. 

He looked behind him, and saw _Rapunzel_ and her family embracing. The words they whispered stabbed into his skin: _Are you alright_ , _I’m so happy you’re safe_ , _I’m here_. Love and care. 

Varian felt something dark stir within him. 

How could the _princess_ , who had done _nothing_ , get to have _everything_ —her home, her reputation, her _family_ —when he, who had done _everything_ , had nothing? Her parents loved her because she existed. He could feel their pride and their love like a terrible sun searing his skin. Whereas he? He was trying to cling onto some remnant of his father, a ghost of his rare smiles, a delusion of life. A dead man in a dead village murdered by neglect and wilful ignorance. 

Everything he had been leaving simmering deep within—hurt, terror, fury—overflowed from the depths of his soul, feeding the _hate_ multiplying uncontrollably from his heart and filling every crevice of his being with fire. He forced out the words he knew were true, yet the knowledge did nothing to soften the way it tore his childhood apart. “It’s _her fault_.” 

The words acted like a catalyst. He knew, as he spoke them, that they were needed if he was to discard his deluded hope that he could rely on _them_. The words gave the hate burning within him purpose, and through it he was able to drive himself to his feet, to the trapdoor, and down into the darkness. 

There was no light down here. He didn’t need light to see. He knew this cavern like he knew the first principal of alchemy. He had lost count of the times he had been down here in the last month alone, building automaton after automaton. It would be empty now; they were all above, defending his home—apart from one. 

The pinnacle of his creations. When the flower failed, this had been the focal point of his solidifying plan; the outcome of countless hours of feverish creation. It was a prototype, but he knew that it would work, and he knew that he needed it now. 

Purely by memory, he reached the entry point he built into the leg and pulled the hatch open with a hiss. The pneumatic lift brought him up to the control centre; it had been simple enough to implement, based on the diagrams from _Dynamic Physics_. The lever that drove the reaction was likewise simple to locate. 

Red light filled the interior as the chemical reactions drove turbines deep in the automaton’s core. Red light—less energy needed to power, but now, it reflected the flames of anger inside him. The light spilled out into the cavern beyond, and Varian vaguely recalled not having an opening wide enough for the machine to fit through. No matter. 

His hands curled tightly around the control levers, he made the automaton smash its limb into the cavern roof. The rock crumbled and collapsed around him; he threw his weight onto the lever, and this time, the automaton met resistance in the form of the house’s floor. On a third hit, an immense screeching noise echoed around the collapsing cavern as he forced the machine through the floor. 

He and the machine clambered out the hole, red light mingling with the orange glow of the amber and the silver moonlight. The royal family cowered before him, and he felt the fire within him roar in satisfaction. “Sorry, princess,” he spat, his voice amplified and powerful through his automaton. “We _were_ in this together.” He thought of her lies and false promises, and the life she didn’t deserve, letting the flames burn away any doubt. “But if I can’t have a happy ending, then _neither can you_!” 

He let out a scream as he threw the levers forward, sending the machine crushing down onto the very spot the royals had been standing. He didn’t care about the cracks that snaked across the floor. It wouldn’t affect the amber. It wasn’t like he had anything more to lose. 

He smashed through the walls of his house, and saw a field of destruction. His automatons lay scattered and dying on the black spikes. A month of work, destroyed. Another exercise in futility. 

He would have to _make_ it worth something. 

He heard a rage-filled scream and turned to see Cassandra charging his machine. Despite himself, the sight of her attack twisted the knife of her betrayal further into his heart. He had to remind himself that she had never been on his side to have turned on him so quickly back in the vault. 

He caught her in the machine’s hand. The renewed hurt of her _betrayal_ forced bitter-tasting words through his mouth. 

“Hello Cassandra. I always knew I could _sweep you off your feet_.” 

“Let her go, Varian!” Rapunzel shouted. As if he would entertain her requests after she ignored his. 

He located the queen. Out of the three, she was the most innocent (but that was an extremely generous use of the term). It would be fitting that the princess and king know the pain of a family member dying before their eyes. 

Varian plucked her off the ground, brushing off the king’s attempts to hold onto her with the ease of sweeping off dust. 

Something smashed into the windshield. A thrown weapon. Rapunzel. 

“That’s _enough_ , Varian,” she declared. How dare she? She had _no idea_ how it felt to have a loved one ripped away before one’s eyes. She had _no idea_ the loneliness of being shunned by _everyone_ when all he wanted was their help. 

“It’s not enough!” he growled through gritted teeth. “Until you endure the same amount of _pain_ and _agony_ I have!”

He shoved on the levers, crushing the fingers of the machine together. Crushing them, just like how the rocks suffocated his dad. Varian kept his eyes on Rapunzel’s face, ignoring the cries washing around him. She had to know. It wouldn’t be fair until she knew what she had caused, until she knew how he felt. Blood roared in his head; he embraced it, for it drowned out his protesting conscience and the logical conclusions screaming how this wouldn’t do anything to help his dad. If he gave those thoughts room, the fire would die, and the emptiness would return. 

It was simple, then. He had to keep the fire burning. 

When Rapunzel defied all expectation and created a tsunami out of those accursed spikes, tearing his _pinnacle_ into pieces, turning his village into a mangled battlefield, ripping the scraps of hope he had forced together out of his reach, he felt his mind shift in and out of lucidity. A pervasive, crushing feeling threatened to overpower all rational thought. He found himself at an awkward angle, half-buried in darkness, the sides of the cockpit partially caved in. He didn’t remember how he got there. Just impressions of hate, rage, desperation.

It hardly mattered anyway. He still failed—at least for the meantime. He didn’t care when the guards smashed the glass and dragged him out of his metal grave just to exchange it for another, nor for the way the people crowded around the wreckage, showing that tentative curiosity for something morbid. He didn’t care that people recoiled, that the _royals_ stood to the side watching him with those expressions of fear and pity. All that had happened was that he was now better educated on what he was facing, better equipped to _get his dad back_. 

_I don’t care what it takes_ , he thought, as the darkness closed in, leaving him with only the warmth of Ruddiger beside him and the flickering flame of determination. _I don’t care what happens to me. Let them hate me, let them keep spreading their lies. Truth always prevails._

“I’ll make you proud of me, dad,” he whispered. He let the thought consume him, pushing through the crushing weight on his heart, stilling those ripples of doubt. “If it’s the _last thing I ever do_.”

_I promise._


End file.
